


Ugly: Reprise

by arturas, Clio_Codex



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feels, Introspection, Porn With Plot, oh Atton, the Hawk ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 17:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30059247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arturas/pseuds/arturas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clio_Codex/pseuds/Clio_Codex
Summary: "You said you could only teach me how to play pazaak. When I felt your thoughts with Kreia, though, she said… said there were other things you thought about. Hyperspace routes. Ticks in the machines. Other… scenarios."Meetra has questions about the way Atton shields his thoughts...or so she tells herself."Ugly" by arturas told from Meetra's POV (so go read that first!).
Relationships: Atton "Jaq" Rand/Meetra Surik, The Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Ugly: Reprise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29898438) by [arturas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arturas/pseuds/arturas). 



> So arturas wrote a thing - "Ugly" - and of course Meetra's take on events was in my head - so this version happened.
> 
> The plot, the dialogue, and the paragraphing are by arturas (and really, go read "Ugly"!). Meetra's thoughts are me.

We are dirt, we are alone

You know we're far from sober

We are fake, we are afraid

You know it's far from over

We are dirt we are alone

You know we're far from sober

Look closer, are you like me?

Are you ugly?

-The Exies, “Ugly”

Meetra’s been lying in her bunk for hours, tossing as though that will bring on the sleep that’s clearly not coming.The Hawk’s too quiet and her thoughts too muddled so she might as well get up.As though her feet have a mind of their own she’s halfway to the cockpit before it occurs to her where she’s headed….and why.There’s an excuse to give at least, that she wants to know more about Atton’s mental games, the ones that mask his thoughts. Never mind it’s the thoughts she’s really interested in.

He’s right where she expects, in the pilot’s chair, staring out into hyperspace, absent-mindedly shuffling the ever present pazaak deck.

There’s the excuse, the pazaak, or a version of it anyway.She watches his hands from the door waiting for him to notice she’s there.When he does, she senses the grin before she sees it, forces her own face neutral as he spins to face her.“What’s up, sweetheart?”

She nearly laughs at that, the constant flirty banter that he’s not bothered to reign in since they started his Jedi training.Of course, she’d be lying if she said that she minded it in the slightest.Sure she wants to train him to use his gifts, but neither of them would make for much of a Jedi - too much past.

“Got a question for you.”It’s comfortable here in the cockpit and easy to invite herself to kick up her boots in the co-pilot’s seat.He does the same and nods for her to continue.“It’s to do with that game of pazaak you taught me to play.The head one.”

She’s blocking her almost instinctive attempt to feel what he’s thinking - surely counting cards or maybe coordinates or maybe the other thing she wants to ask about.Watching his hands shuffle the deck helps control the curiosity, the desire to know what’s behind the smirk and the cocky words. “Shoot.”

“You said you could only teach me how to play pazaak.When I felt your thoughts with Kreia, though, she said….said there were other things you thought about.Hyperspace routes.Ticks in the machines.Other….scenarios.”

It’s the other scenarios she’s really here for.Stupid really because even asking the damn question is prying, pushing at a boundary that she knows better than to broach.Or maybe it’s just dishonest; better if she just said what she wanted instead of tricking him into doing it for her. _Gods_ if the Force bond business….she shoves the thought aside and watches his reaction.His brow quirks in an innocent sort of way.“Oh? Did she?”

She crosses her arms and purses her lips to hide the grin that’s dying to come out, hopes her eyes don’t betray her anyway.“She did.And I’m inclined to believe her.But you don’t seem to ever have a spare blaster in your pants, so….”

Atton snorts.“Is it that hard to believe I’m capable of some self-control?”

“The first thing you ever said to me was a come-on.”

“You were in nothing but your underwear.What was I meant to do, not comment on the near-naked obvious?”

“I was armed, stunk of kolto and visibly pissed off.”

The grin he flashes now is the one she now knows as the fake one, the one he hides behind.“Didn’t make you any less attractive, did it?”

She rolls her eyes to temper her own true grin that breaks out at that. _Gods_ he’s a terrible flirt - and she does love it even though it has never occurred to her before to be interested in such things.Meetra Surik, Jedi knight, certainly never had the time and, well, when you are trying to lose yourself in exile, flirting isn’t high on the list.And, yet here she is now, hoping there’s a shred of truth to his banter, even as she lies to herself and says it doesn’t matter. “So that’s what you fantasize about?The stench of fish and me being angry at you?”

“You caught me.” He’s a bit too quick with the answer and the sudden drop of his feet to the floor suggests he’s slightly off his guard.“Dead fish and impending violence; that’s what gets me going, all right.So hot.Better watch for that blaster.”

She fumbles for a smart retort and resists the temptation to look at his crotch - too obvious.Although maybe she should fucking go for it instead of playing this game.“What makes you think I’d be interested in you anyway?”

“Harsh.”

“That’s what you get for deflecting.”She’s lying, of course, because she is.“So that’s the trick, then?Think of something unappealing?”

She doesn’t need Jedi tricks to see he’s spinning his response, weighing his options to lie.If she was honest, she’d just tell him - that, yes, she wants to know because maybe it can be a thing that will help in what’s to come, but really because she hopes it’s about her and not unappealing at all.But she doesn’t.And so they both keep dancing around it.“Well - not unappealing, strictly speaking.”

She nods her head for him to go on.

There’s a twitch at his eye that gives away how he’s trying to focus, only noticeable if you’ve spent too much time studying Atton Rand as she has.

“The trick is,” he’s talking just a bit too slow too, like he’s afraid of saying something that might give him away, “to use something that anyone looking in would find believable, but that isn’t something that you could actually lose yourself in.”

She leans back, frowning.“That is the vaguest and most frustrating answer you could have given, Rand.I thought you hated the mystical Jedi talk.”

“What, you want me to bring up some holovids for reference?Give you some explicit examples?”

Better yet she’d just like him to describe it with that clever mouth, exactly what he fucking thinks about.Not that she’ll say it - yet.“That would be helpful, yes.”

He looks off to her left like there’s an unseen presence there - and then she senses it too, the thing he’s thinking, no matter that she tries not to see.It’s her, a fake Meetra in his mind.

She tucks her hands under her arms to try to shut it out of her perception despite her curiosity about what he imagines her to be.Too invasive even though it’s not like she’s trying to pry.

Her brow lifts to encourage an answer; he shrugs and smirks.“Well, I’ll have to make a few assumptions, but let’s see…you could put together a nice little fantasy about being rescued from nefarious Sith imprisionment by a scruffy yet dashing pilot, and rewarding him the only way you know how - “

The noise she makes is one of amusement.He really can’t help himself - and she doesn’t mind a bit.

“ - or if that sounds like too much of a good time, maybe you’d go for something along the lines of finding an injured scoundrel out in the wastes somewhere, nursing him back to health only to find he has no way to thank you short of - “

“If you keep going like that, I’m going to have to slap you,” but she’s grinning as she says it.“That’s the lamest bantha poodoo I’ve heard in years.Just what kind of vids are you watching?”

Hopefully her grin disguises the fact that she’d totally lose herself in such thoughts - if she allowed herself to indulge. “That’s the point, Surik. From your end of things it’s an awful, cliché-ridden waste of time. From an outsider’s perspective, well, it’s pretty plausible, so they’ll slide off your thoughts and move on. You’re not distracted in your own fantasies and they’re thrown off-guard or distracted themselves; either way, your thoughts are your own, and you’ve got the upper hand.”

What does that mean then for whatever fake Meetra is doing?She can’t exactly see it; more just feels it, knows he’s thinking it, has the sensation of her hand on his chest somehow.

She squirms a bit in the chair, unfolding her arms and forcing a nod.“So realistic, but not realistic and the same time?Like something you don’t actually enjoy?”

It’s getting harder ignore the fake Meetra - it’s so fucking loud or maybe he wants her to see.Or maybe she’s the one projecting or some how the damn Force bond is tricking them both into disclosing desires unspoken. Her breath catches at the imagined warmth of his crotch at her cheek and if she’s not careful she’ll -

“I never said it had to be something you wouldn’t enjoy,” her focus snaps back to the cards he’s still holding as he speaks.“You can like it, no worries.Probably better that you do - someone might wonder why you’re thinking of something you find disgusting and push a bit deeper.It just can’t be realistic enough that you could lose yourself in it.Understand me?”

Maybe it’s time to call their bluffs.She pushes to her feet, wills them steady as she walks to him, hopes her voice sounds flirty and not something else as she leans to rest on the arm of his chair.“So me blowing you in this chair isn’t realistic enough to lose yourself in?”

When he slams the cards back to a deck she wonders if maybe she’s wrong, maybe there’s nothing to it on his part.Yet, his thinking doesn’t go quiet.“Only under the old witch’s guidance, huh?”The shift in his tone sparks worry in her gut.

She curses the Force in her head or at least the Jedi part - as if she was ever worthy of the title.

Not that she wants to train Atton either, not really.Because what will it mean for him to follow her, someone who fell so far?What does she even believe anymore?Certainly not in the order, not in whatever Kreia’s trying to sell her. 

“Didn’t have to.You’re projecting.”

They are close enough that she can see the flicker of something in his eye, a something that says maybe he knows she’s not lying.She could do it, what he’s accusing her of.She could dig in his head and turn it inside out looking for the thing she wants to hear.Hell, she could even convince him to believe it he doesn’t, could make him want her in a way beyond lust against his will - and hate herself for it.

Or she could just be honest and say it and hope he says it back.

“Oh, am I?Seems awfully convenient.”

“Cut the crap, Rand.What do you have to gain from denial now?”

Instead of honest she stays firm, just a hint of the earlier flirtation under the ire in her voice.Grabbing at the cards gives an excuse to touch his hand, but he takes her wrist before she can.She wills her heart to slow at the contact, steadies her breath. 

She’s close to losing control in a way that terrifies her even as she wants to just let go, overwhelmed with knowing she wants to be the Meetra he sees, not the thing in his head.Wants him to believe her when she tells him that he matters.

“Because you can do better.”His words twist something deep in her gut.

He’s trying to blow her off, trying to say the thing in his head is just that - only a fantasy to keep Kreia or maybe her out of his thoughts.It’s a warning, too, that they are both too broken, can’t be made whole.Except, the fingers around her wrist move in a way that’s almost intimate, like he wants her to say he’s wrong and kiss him hard.

Or that’s just her own wishful thinking.“Better than what?”

“Don’t.” She wants to cup his cheek to soothe the hurt in his voice, to run a finger across his lips, to say there’s nothing better.

But she stays frozen on the arm of the chair and chokes out a reply.“Better than what, Rand?

There’s an ugly thing in his voice when he answers, like he’s afraid.“Dragging the answer from my head not good enough for you anymore?”Her heart lurches as he shoves her away and looks back to the console - and the fantasy at his side.She wants to scream _I’m right here and real_ but he keeps talking, resignation now in his words.“Doesn’t matter.You can do better, end of story.Go do better.Don’t waste your time.”

Meetra doesn’t like to lose, especially not at this.Her hand circles his wrist.“And if I don’t want better?”

His pulse skips under her fingers, a thing that feels like hope only he doesn’t turn to meet her gaze.Maybe she’s wrong.

But she knows she’s not.They are both afraid, afraid to believe in the possibility of a thing right in front of them.Too wrapped up in their histories and running and hiding to let go.It’s easier to just have the fantasy, to think it’s enough.

Gods know that’s how she survived exile, avoiding living in the world as it is, staying safe in her head.Except she did that so long she was as good as dead - cut off from the Force and from feeling anything.But somehow he sparks her back, makes her want to touch the real, to feel deep and true.Even if that means facing all the shit from her past, she’ll do it if it means he’ll touch her, the real her with all her flaws and broken pieces.

He’s still looking away but not fighting her hand on his wrist.The desire to touch him more is overwhelming - to stroke his face, to press her face against his neck.To say _I know you as you know me_.To sink into the way he could touch her in return.

When she gives into it, it’s almost without thinking.Damn the consequences if she’s wrong.The rough of his jaw is warmer under her fingers than she’d imagined, but it’s not enough and he’s still not turned and maybe his wanting is the wrong kind after all.

She could pull with the bond but it has to be real or not at all.If it’s not, it’s just a quick fuck and nothing more, a desperate gasp for them both to avoid drowning in it all.And that’s not what she wants.She wants him, all of him, the smart mouth, the smirk, the messy bits too - more than she’s wanted anything before, because he’s real and warm under her hand - and in her head and heart.

“You should.”She’s so lost in her thoughts she’s almost forgotten the question he’s answering.For a moment it’s an answer to her doubts - that she should break her grasp on his arm, walk out of the cockpit, and forget this happened.Because he wants the fantasy version of her, the one he’s still holding in his head, the one that doesn’t have the baggage of Malachor, of the Jedi, of exile.The one that doesn’t have the cracks and messiness of the real Meetra.She can’t blame him, really.

But her fantasy of him will never be enough.

So maybe it’s worth the risk of giving in all the way to the thing she wants.

With a flick of the Force she closes the cockpit door, lets her hand drift to the back of his neck, and dips her head to his ear.She can feel him breathing erratically, even though he’s still not moved or turned to face her.They are so close.And she asks.

“And just where do you get off telling me what I should want?” So much in that question.

She’d tried to keep her voice light in the asking, afraid to betray her worry.He wants her - at least in a physical sense.That’s always been clear just as she’s been drawn to him since his first crack about her kolto soaked shorts. That could be the starting place but even as she thinks it she knows it’s not enough, knows that if they play this out, the mutual fantasy, that she’ll be left hollow and empty if he doesn’t want more.

She’s still trying to ignore what he’s projecting but feels the graze of her imaginary lips at his very real cheek and that’s all real Meetra needs to fully let go.

Her kiss at his jaw is hard because she needs him to feel the real her.If she can’t yet find the words, touch might do.But it’s also the inability to hold back now that she’s let go, a primal need to consume and be consumed in return.

His heavy sigh is tinged with resignation or pleasure -mixed signals at best.She should stop, ask him what he wants, name her own desire, but if she’s wrong then she won’t even get this much so she doesn’t.She’s a coward then.But it’s hard enough holding herself to just the kiss, waiting for him to give some sign that he at least wants to fuck if nothing else.

His voice is soft when he speaks, still that trace of hurt.“Because this is a bad idea and you know it.You can do better.”

“I’ve had worse ideas before.And -” she gives up the warmth of his wrist to turn his head so she can see his eyes - “so could you.Seems we’re even.”

Those weren’t the right words, but maybe they are enough.Maybe he can sense through the bond what she really means.That he’s wrong about _better_ because he’s her _best_.She’s holding her breath, waiting for his move, hoping he’ll accept the real her, wondering if he feels how her heart is pounding with anticipation.

Her core burns when he touches her, a hand to the back of her neck.She blinks against the urge to run her hands up his chest, to cup his face and tangle fingers in his hair.“Not even remotely, Surik.But if you’ve made up your mind…”

He may just want fantasy Meetra but she’ll give him the real her, all of her.

And if that’s not enough, she’ll know she tried at least, stopped being afraid to feel and trust.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it?That he make her want to feel, want to trust - and she does with him, even if he doesn’t know it, doesn’t see how much he’s worth.

There’s a heavy pause and then she feels him let go of the fantasy, at least for a moment, and - _gods_ he is beautiful. 

“…then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

That’s all the invitation she needs to dive at his mouth, eager to kiss away the last hints of his self-depreciation and her own self-doubt.If they can drown in each other like this, none of that will matter.

Not to mention how much she’s wanted him, how she’s dreamed of his hands when she’s touched herself.

Still she’s pushing too hard she knows, clawing at his skin as they shed clothes, like now that she’s let herself tip over the edge she can’t find a way to get close enough to him, torn between needing to feel him, really feel him, and wanting to savor.His touches are almost hesitant in return and she hopes that’s not doubt.She should ask, but is afraid of the answer so she plunges ahead urging him on, praying that he doesn’t mistake her neediness for anything other than the honest desire of him.

He’s letting her lead, not passive but giving.Trusting.Not sure she deserves it given her past.Or she’s wrong and he’s just resigned to it.Or maybe he just wants a distraction from his own past sins.Those worries can’t matter now, fade against his skin.

How many times she’s imagined this, thought about how his body would feel against hers, even thought about it happening right here in the damn pilot’s chair on the Hawk, the place where he seems most himself.But the reality of it surpasses any fantasy, reduces her to nearly incoherent cries into his neck, something like _fuck_ and _please_ and _all of you_.Maybe he senses it, the way they are so close to melting into each other, the way they fit together to be whole despite the broken pieces.

She wants that, even as the wanting feels selfish.

They are moving in a rhythm without a beat, her words reduced to the only one that matters, _Atton_.She wants to see his face but can’t tear her mouth from the pulse at his neck, holds onto his heartbeat, hoping the race of it isn’t just the sex, that maybe the more she imagined is real.

When she comes she loses herself completely in it, goes boneless in his arms like every fear or doubt or mistake is washed away in the wake of it, that she can just _be_ fully herself maybe for the first time ever. A true smile claims her face - she’s too overwhelmed for any other expression because _gods_ he’s beautiful and nothing has ever felt more perfect.

And then he breaks, too, and she doesn’t let go, grips him close with her hands and thighs, even as she rocks with the last wisps of it.In this moment, she’ll give him pleasure if nothing else, no matter how she wants to make him _fucking feel_ the way he does her.

She stays nestled against his neck, breathing him in, wondering vaguely if he ever sees himself as she does, the possibility and promise.

Or if he knows following her might be the thing that breaks him.

It’s possible to ignore that danger with the way his hand is playing at her neck, the way his arms pull her close in this quiet stillness.If only she could just stay here against the warmth of his skin, believe this wasn’t about him needing a fuck but about wanting her like she wants him, believe that it’s real.

She knows she can’t stay forever though.Surely the weight of her is getting too much, so she forces herself up, sighs softly as she feels him slip away.She manages a small smile as she softly kisses his cheek.“Seems that warning was misplaced.”

He doesn’t touch her back and she can’t quite read the thing in his eyes.Worry maybe.Please not regret.“You’re underestimating yourself, Surik.”She should laugh at that since he’s always the one doing just that, never seeing his worth.She needs to find the right words to explain.

But she settles for fingers at his jaw, marveling at the effect even this simple touch has on her, even after the intimacy of before.“Or perhaps you’re overestimating me.”

And he is, has been all this time just as he underestimates himself.There’s a new worry now, that maybe he only sees the fantasy Meetra even as he still holds the real her, that if he ever lets himself see past the veneer he’ll run.

That selfish worry drowns against the desire that she figure out how to make him see what he means, how he matters.

Because that’s all that matters, really.

That he finds happiness, a way to love himself.

He kisses her, soft after the hungry kisses from before.Between the kiss and the way his arms tighten around her, she almost believes that he knows, that his desire reflects her own.“Don’t think that’s possible, beautiful.”

“Careful, Rand.” There’s another true smile at his words.“That sounded almost sincere.”

And she hopes it was, that he meant that she’s beautiful even with the scars and the past, that real Meetra is better than his fantasy of her could ever be.There’s a comfort in the way their bodies still touch, the bare of their skin in a million points of contact, some familiar feeling in it that she doesn’t want to let go of.

If only she didn’t have to.But maybe she doesn’t.

He kisses her again, murmuring her name and something else into her mouth.She feels it then, the pulse of how he wants her, really wants her, the real Meetra, the broken one with all the faults - wants her like she wants him, two halves of a thing not made whole because there is no whole but made better for the loving of each other.They can’t kiss deeply enough to say it but they try.

And the words will come.

With time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to arturas for sharing the head space :)


End file.
